


Don't Mess with M

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [44]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond is Suave, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M is a BAMF, Sexual Harrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone tries their luck with M - and comes to regret it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mess with M

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/gifts).



> Written as a slightly belated birthday present for Wolfsbride.  
> Unbeta'd so give me a shout if you spot any egregious errors, please!  
> This is set between QoS and Skyfall.

M watched from across the room as Bond flirted effortlessly with the Prime Minister's wife, and marvelled at the way he managed to turn women's heads everywhere he went. She'd be the first to admit she found it an irritating trait in him, but at the same time she had to admire the way he always put it to such good use. She had no doubt that when she talked to him tomorrow, he'd be able to give her plenty of useful information about those men present with whose wives he'd flirted.

She was just contemplating getting some food from the buffet when a voice spoke low near her ear.

"Good evening, M."

She looked up, annoyed that she'd allowed her attention to wander sufficiently that she hadn't been aware of the Junior Minister's approach. This particular sprig of the FCO was in the Counter-Terrorism section, she recalled, and she knew nothing good of him: he'd twice been accused of harassment by junior colleagues, but he'd managed to wriggle out of trouble both times. She suspected money had changed hands, which rankled with her as she intensely disliked men who abused their power, particularly the Old Boys' Network.

So her tone was positively frosty when she responded to his greeting, although she noted that he seemed immune, and she wondered how much he'd had to drink this evening.

"I wonder if I might have a quick word?" Dickson asked.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" 

"I'd rather not. It's quite important."

She cast a sharp glance at him and saw that his expression was quite serious. "Very well."

He took her arm, and M immediately pulled it away, then moved apart to put down her empty glass on a side table, hoping he'd think that had been her intention all along: she had no desire to have his hands on her.

She followed him out into the corridor, then down towards the windows that overlooked the gardens at the back of the building.

"What is it Mr Dickson?" she asked curtly, pausing in front of the window.

He pouted, then said, "Your tone leaves a lot to be desired, M." 

Her hackles rose and she opened her mouth to put him in his place, but the words remained unsaid as his mouth descended on hers in a slobbery kiss, pressing her back against the wall so that she had no room to lift her knee into his groin. She shoved at him ineffectually since he was both taller and heavier than her, and she had no space to manoeuvre. She was also running out of air and she redoubled her efforts to push him away.

He pulled back, panting heavily, his hooded eyes heavy with lust and alcohol, and M didn't hesitate, or even pause to consider the wisdom of what she was about to do, she simply hauled off and punched him. Blood spurted from his nose and he let out a hoarse yell of pain and anger, but before he could respond further, she slipped away from him, turning to make her escape. She was taken aback to see Bond hurrying down the corridor towards her and felt her flush of anger deepen as she realised that he'd witnessed what had just happened. Before she could say anything, however, he merely asked, "Can I give you a lift home, ma'am?" 

She glared at him, but his expression was studiedly neutral as if nothing at all untoward had occurred.

"Very well," she said, unable to entirely hide her huff of annoyance.

They retrieved their coats from the cloakroom, then Bond led the way out to the car park and over to his car.

007-007-007

M was relieved that Bond didn't try to engage her in conversation as he drove her back to her flat, but she wondered what was going on in his head since he had an especially grim expression on his face. She didn't ask any questions, however, deciding it was probably a case of 'least said, soonest mended'.

She expected him to simply drop her off at her flat, but he pulled into the underground car park, then got out of the car, and she was too tired to bother telling him not to come up with her. 

Letting herself in to the flat, she kicked off her shoes just inside the door, then padded across to the sofa and flopped down, closing her eyes wearily. She could hear Bond rummaging in her kitchen, but for the moment she couldn't summon up the energy to go and see what he was doing.

"Here." His voice was soft but it jerked her from her half-sleep, and she opened her eyes to see him offering her a glass of Scotch. In his other hand he carried her ice bucket, and there was a tea towel over his arm.

She frowned up at him as she accepted the glass. "I'm not going to adulterate a perfectly good Scotch with ice," she told him.

He shook his head slightly, an impatient expression in his eyes. "The ice is for your hand, ma'am." He sat down in front of her on the coffee table, unfolded the tea towel, and scooped some ice cubes into it, then tied it up neatly. M sighed, but switched the glass into her left hand and held out her right. He took her hand in his and laid it on her knee, then placed the impromptu ice pack on top.

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome."

M closed her eyes again. "No doubt there'll be an almighty row about this in the morning," she observed. 

Bond patted her hand gently. "I'll see myself out, ma'am."

M opened her eyes, slightly surprised by his lack of a response. She'd expected him to make some sort of joke or to offer what he considered a witty retort, but he was already on his feet and straightening his tuxedo.

"Goodnight, ma'am."

"Goodnight Bond." M closed her eyes again, determined not to show him how stung she was. She heard the door close behind him as he let himself out, then took a deep breath, forcing herself to swallow her emotions. It was stupid, she knew, to feel disappointed that Bond was staying at arm's length, when she was always doing her utmost to keep him there, but she did feel disappointed by his departure.

She swallowed down the whisky, feeling glad of the fiery burn of the liquor, then she pushed herself to her feet, and prepared to go to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a bitch of a day, she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to regret her actions too much: Dickson more than deserved his bloody nose, as far as she was concerned.

007-007-007

The morning dragged horribly on the following day: M kept waiting for a summons to see the Foreign Secretary, but no phonecalls came in at all. To add to M's irritation and tension, Bond hadn't shown up this morning, and she was just contemplating getting Tanner to send someone round to his flat, when Bond came through the door. He was as impeccably dressed as ever: his white shirt crisp, his tie understated, and his dove grey suit immaculate, but there was considerable weariness lurking in his eyes.

"You're late Mr Bond," she observed neutrally.

"Yes ma'am. Sorry." 

He didn't seem very repentant, she thought, and there was a gleam in his eyes that she couldn't quite interpret. "What did you do?" she asked, suddenly certain that his late arrival and the lack of any sort of summons from the Foreign Office was connected.

He slouched into the chair opposite her, giving a little shrug as he sat down. "Just reminded Dickson that he really ought to keep his hands to himself – unless he wanted them chopped off."

His tone was flat, and his expression defiant now.

"Humph." M thought she probably ought to tell him off, but secretly she hoped Bond had scared Dickson shitless – it would serve him right, and might actually teach him to keep his hands to himself in future. She said nothing further on the matter, however; instead she prepared to begin briefing him about his next mission, and ignored the little quirk of his mouth that showed he understood her lack of scolding.

She summoned in Tanner, and asked him to outline the situation with which they were going to have to deal, and the briefing got underway. 

007-007-007

An hour later, M dismissed Tanner, then turned to Bond. "Make sure you've got everything you need before you leave," she told him. He nodded, and got his feet, turning towards the door. "James." He looked around and she gave him a fond smile. "Thank you."

His expression brightened, a smile blossoming. "It was an honour, ma'am," he answered. He touched two fingers to his temple in a salute, then made his way out.

M watched him go, and resolved that when he returned from this mission, she would have to thank him properly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Her Blunt Instrument](https://archiveofourown.org/works/954209) by [Wolfsbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfsbride/pseuds/Wolfsbride)




End file.
